


Milk Cow No.124

by whiskysour (whiskygalore)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castration, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, M/M, Milking, Omega Dean, Underage Dean, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:10:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21632584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskygalore/pseuds/whiskysour
Summary: John left his boys alone one time to many, much to farmer Bobby’s good fortune. Omega Dean is going to make the prettiest cow.
Relationships: Bobby Singer/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 143
Collections: Supernatural Kink Meme





	Milk Cow No.124

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spn kink meme. Apparently I have a thing for cow Dean and Dean/Bobby, who knew. It’s not finished, but it is readable. Filthy porn.. that's all. Tread with caution.

The omega is a pretty one for sure with porcelain skin, huge green eyes sparking wild, and bee-stung lips so red it look as though some alpha has just fucked his face. If Bobby didn't trust his farmhands he might be worried. Benny and Gordon know better though. Well, Benny does and he's more than capable of keeping Gordon in line.

"Where you wanting him, boss?" Benny has dragged the little O out of the crate in the bed of the pick-up and slung him over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes or a slab of meat. With his skinny wrists tied behind back, and his knees and ankles bound there isn't a whole lot the O can do about it.

"In the tasting shed first I think, Benny," Bobby says, leading the way towards the barn. It’s more of an examination room really, somewhere that Bobby can strap an O down and carry out any procedure that needs done, but tasting shed sounds a touch more friendly. There’s no point in unnecessarily panicking the livestock. "I want to get a proper look at him. That damn auctioneer was breathing down my neck in the sales room, couldn't do much more than check his teeth, tits and balls."

"Goddamn Crowley," Benny growls in agreement, following Bobby into the smallest barn in the dairy farm. "That guy's a slimy S.O.B"

"No doubt about it," Bobby says, "But he does manage to find the sweetest little milk cows. Come on and lay him down here." Bobby grabs a disinfectant wipes and gives one of the stainless steel tables a cursory clean. He stands back and watches Benny lay the O down on his belly. The boy wriggles and thrashes like a wild thing, spitting and snarling behind the rubber-bit gag supposedly keeping him quiet.

"That's enough of that boy," Bobby slaps the O’s butt with the back of his hand, just hard enough to get his attention. "You better mind your manners or you'll be finding out what the end of my belt feels like."

"He's a feisty little thing, ain't he?” Benny grins; he always did prefer the boys with a bit of life in them. Swears blind they end up producing more milk. Bobby sure ain't arguing, there's a reason he chose Lot No.11 and it wasn't just his pretty face.

The O’s still wriggling, still mumbling unhappily as Bobby runs his hand over his body. At least Crowley always ensures his stock is clean and infection free; there’s definitely no sign of lice or fleas. He also has no obvious injuries other than a couple of bruises, and thankfully he's showing no signs of ill health. He's a little skinny maybe, but nothing a handful of extra feed a couple of times a day won't fix. His ass… well, his ass is the cutest thing Bobby thinks he's ever seen. And God, if running his fingers over the soft curve of it doesn't make his dick start to take an interest. Bobby swears blind he can't remember the last time that happened. He's not thought about an O as anything other than potential yield and profit for years. 

He massages the boy’s plump ass-cheeks in his hands, the pale flesh blooming pink beneath his meaty fingers. The boy whines high in his throat and snaps whipcord taut when Bobby drags apart his cheeks to look at his hole, tiny, rose-colored and tight as a virgin O's should be.

"You want a hand turning him over?" Benny asks when Bobby's looked his fill.

Bobby jerks a nod in response, and deftly untied the ropes binding the boy. Between the two of them they manage to flip the O over, just about dodging his thrashing limbs without injury. It's only a matter of minutes before they succeed in strapping him to the table; thighs spread wide and arms immobile above his head.

"Hey now, little O." Bobby says tapping the kid's button nose. "You belong to me now. I paid handsomely for you and you're going to show me you're worth the outlay"

"My daddy's gonna-" It's muffled beyond comprehension through the gag but Bobby knows what the kids saying, from experience as much as anything. 

"Hush boy. Your daddy left you and that little alpha brother of yours all alone for weeks. He's likely dead in a ditch somewhere. No-one's coming for you, no-one cares. If they did you wouldn't have found yourself on Crowley's auction block. Now, I know this ain't where you thought you'd end up, but trust me it could be a lot worse. I treat my milk cows fairly."

The O's eyes flare like the spit of a camp fire before narrowing into an accusatory glare. 

Benny laughs and Bobby shakes his head, turning away so the boy doesn't see the smile tugging at his lips. This one's going to take a bit of training. But Bobby knows a thing or two about controlling unruly milkers, and it sure is a lot more exciting bringing a wild O into line than watching the blank stare of a docile born cow.

The O stays quiet but strung tight as Bobby continues the rest of his examination; runs his fingers over the protrusion of the boy’s ribs and the sharp dip of his belly. Bobby swears silently to himself and mentally ups the amount of feed the boy's going to need. He spends minutes teasing the boys’ flat nipples. His areoles are bigger than average, almost three inches in diameter and the color of creamed coffee, his nipples tempting buds of caramelized sugar in the center of them. With Bobby's clever handling they soon plump up into hard peaks. Given some time and patience, and daily sessions strapped into the milking machine, Bobby's sure the boy's tits wil soon be full of the sweetest milk. 

Little puffs of air are escaping from behind the gag before Bobby finishes manipulating the O's nubs, and when he looks at the boy's face, sure enough his eyes are clenched shut and his cheeks are a beautiful shade of red. Bobby grins in satisfaction. "Feels good, boy, don't it? It's what you were made for y'know; fucking and milking. God knows you ain't no good for nothing else. You can't have babies like a girl omega, you don't have the brains to look after yourself never mind anyone else. No, the best thing for a pretty little O like you is to be owned by someone like me; it beats being some frat fuck-toy or after-dinner entertainment for a bunch of rich assholes."

The boy whimpers when Bobby pinches his swollen nipples one last time, and gasps when he bends down and licks each of them in turn before sucking them into his mouth and suckling noisily like he would if the boy were producing.

Benny raises an eyebrow but stays quiet. Bobby ignores him. He's well aware that this isn't going the way a normal first inspection does, but this boy's different, a real special breed.

The boy's nips are dark with spit and his alabaster skin stained pink from his ears down to his sternum by the time Bobby leaves his tits be. And his little dick, well...it's standing straight to attention.

"Would you lookie here Benny. I guess our little O is a natural. A couple of pulls on his virgin titties and his cocklet is begging for attention. Well don't you worry none boy, I'll soon help you out."

Like any O the boy's dick is a tiny thing, a couple of inches long at the most and barely thicker than a pencil. As a rule Bobby doesn't like to touch his milker’s peckers, but just this once, with the boy flushed so pretty and making the most delicious mewling sounds behind his gag, he makes an exception, jacking the O off with a few firm tugs until he comes dry, his back bowing off the table just before his muscles fall lax.

Bobby shrugs off Benny's curious look. "Just checking he ain't shooting jizz yet."

Benny keeps quiet but he obviously doesn't buy it and Bobby doesn't blame him. Apart from the dirty blond mop on his head, fair eyebrows and dark fan of eyelashes, there's not a hair on the boy. His skin is as smooth as a peach and his balls are still the size of grapes. Thank the gods that O’s start puberty late because there’s not a single sign that it’s started its vicious assault. And Bobby's going to make sure damn sure it never does get its cruel claws into this O. Nope, this boy is going to produce the creamiest richest milk untainted by any hormones, natural or not.

"You want to get rid of them now?" Benny nods at the O's balls, reading his mind.

"Yep, might as well do it before we get him settled in. He's damn skinny but he's healthy enough."

"You wanting to slice, crush or band?" 

Each method of castration has its pros and cons. Crushing the O's nuts with the burdizzo is efficient and bloodless, but it does leave the balls behind, saggy and unsightly. That's not going to cut it in this case. This boy is too pretty to mess up. 

Using the elastrator to band the balls has its advantages too; it's also bloodless, cheap and easy to do, but it does mean having to wait for the boy's balls to wither and drop off and that can take a few weeks. It’s also a real pain in the ass trying to stop the O's from doing themselves an injury in that time, not to mention it can get downright stinky and that attracts all kinds of nasty pests which adds to the risk of infection.

Nope, this time around Bobby's going to just slice those unripe nuts clean off. It's a quick and easy procedure for someone with twenty years’ experience, and while the risk of blood loss and infection might be slightly increased, at least the scar will be neat and the boy fully recovered in a week or two. Plus of course it also means Bobby can make a healthy profit selling the O's balls. There's a lot of black magikers and health-nuts out there, voodoo-priests, witch-doctors and hoodoo-men, all willing to pay a shit-ton of money for prepubescent O balls on the black market. They're bat-shit crazy if you ask Bobby, the whole lot of them, but he's not one to turn down business, even if it is a shade on the illegal side.

"Let's whip 'em off nice and quick." Bobby tells Benny. "You grab the kit and I'll prep him."

Benny nods and passes him the spreader bar. 

Ten minutes later they're set to go. The O is strapped down tight, spreader bar keeping those skinny thighs stretched as far apart as possible. He's given the boy a local anesthetic and a shot to keep him calm because Bobby’s a humane farmer not one of those sadistic bastards that like to torture milk cows for the fun of it. Snapping gloves on, he disinfects the boy's groin, makes sure his cocklet is taped up out of the way —it's surprisingly easy for the knife to slip and make a costly mistake— then he grabs the scalpel.

It's a relatively quick procedure. Slice and crush, clamp and snip, and stitch. Despite the sedative, the O is wide-eyed and whimpering throughout, shaking under Bobby's sure hands. Benny tries his best to calm him, strokes his fingers through the boy's hair and tells him how good he's doing; what a beautiful looking O he's going to be, that he's going to produce the sweetest milk ever, going to be a prize winning little cow. He ain't lying neither. This boy's going to make Bobby rich, he'd lay odds on it.

"You want to brand him now too?" Benny asks, keeping his voice low and soothing, trying not to spook the boy any worse.

Usually Bobby would brand his livestock straight off, might as well get all the nasty business out of the way, and make sure no-one can argue ownership of his milkers. But God, this O is beautiful. Pale and perfect and with a rounded rump that looks good enough to eat. Spoiling this kind of delicate beauty seems downright sinful. 

"Think we'll leave it for now," Bobby says, gruffness covering his embarrassment, he doesn't want Benny to think he's suddenly gone soft. "Wait ‘til there's a bit more meat on his bones."

"Sure thing, boss." Benny says evenly, as though leaving a cow unbranded isn't a damn fool thing to do. "Is he good to go?"

Bobby gives the O a wash and clean down with disinfectant before looking him over one last time, unthinkingly petting the boy's trembling thighs as he does it. Green eyes stare up at him, a bit unfocused but somehow still clearly radiating anger, and the obstinate jut of the kid's chin says as much as words ever could. Stripping off his bloody gloves and dropping them on the floor, Bobby smiles wryly at the boy's defiance. Taming this O ain't going to be easy, but it's going to be a heck of a lot of fun.

"Boss?" Benny repeats. "You want me to unstrap him?"

"Yeah, yeah," Bobby says. "Just give me a minute to grab his collar and gloves."

The gloves are mitts; padded and comfortable to wear, designed to protect the O's hands and stop him scratching at his stitches. Bobby slips them over the boy's fingers, curled into jagged fists, and secures them around his wrists with Velcro and sturdy buckles. He and Benny release the boy from the spreader bar and restraints before hauling him up and manhandling him onto all fours.

"Now O, listen good," Bobby says, gripping the boy's chin and forcing his head up, drool leaking from the corners of his lips. "Whatever you were before, whoever you thought you were - that's over. From now on you're mine - my property, my milker." Benny takes the collar, curls it around the boy's slim neck, buckles it and locks it in place with a small silver padlock. At the hollow of the boy's throat sits a copper disc with Bobby's name engraved on it and a number. Number 124. "Milk cow number 124, that's you. Once you're trained up, once you learn how to behave, once your tits are full and leaking, and you're begging pretty to be milked, maybe then you'll earn a name."

The boy blinks at him indolently.

"But if you misbehave, or try to escape, the only thing you'll earn is a punishment. And trust me 124, that ain't something you'll enjoy."

The boy's eyes narrow, his nostrils flaring. If he could speak he'd be saying 'fuck you'. Fair enough, Bobby's just bought and castrated him, and told him he's nothing more than a cow. A little attitude is only to be expected. And it's a damn sight better than the weeping and wailing balls of misery most of the O's turn into.

"Okay," Bobby releases 124's chin, and pats his cheek. "Put him in a solitary cage in the back of Barn One for now. We don't want him picking up an infection or bothering the rest of the herd. You can remove his gag and give him some water, but if he makes too much noise just shove it right back in. I'll check on him myself in a few hours. Maybe give him another shot if he needs it."

"Sure thing, boss." Benny says, already unfastening the bit-gag and prying it from 124's mouth. 

Bobby turns and walks away, making sure to grab the steel basin with what remains of the cow's nuts. He'll need to shove them in the refrigerator until he sells them, shouldn't take more than a day or two. Unless he can get a decent bidding war going. 

"My daddy's gonna rip you apart, you stupid son of a bitch."

The words are rough, the voice cracked and ragged, but Bobby hears them just fine, right before he hears the stinging slap of Benny's palm across the boy's face.

Bobby keeps on walking like he never heard, happy to save the punishment for later. 


End file.
